From Newsgroup: rec.arts.comics.creative

Original post: https://lists.eyrie.org/mailman3/hyperkitty/list/racc@lists.eyrie.org/message/MWHC5IGZNKLBLEBPSZANGT5TMUOFEYTD/
On Sun, Mar 9, 2025 at 4:49rC>PM Arthur Spitzer <arspitzer2@gmail.com> wrote: <snip>

Is it time to go to Chicago and Will It Be A TRAP?!

Instead we must go to Sig.ago

Is it time for some more snowball jokes?!
And is it time to stock up on Weirdness Magnets at
Madame Zool's Occult Bookstore and Bike Repair?!!!

Ooooo, yes to both! :D

I slammed the shot glass down on the bar. "Give me another, Martin."
"Don't you think you've had enough?"
"Let me check. Well, I can still see you clearly, so the answer is
no.

Also very trenchcoatery.

He set the refilled shot glass in front of me. I snatched it up and held it up to the light. Strange and illegal colors swirled around and around inside of it. "Such as drinking this."

Oh man, I want to paint my house illegal colors :D

Janice, try email. Send the article directly to the head of the NTB."
"Certainly, Stewart. And who would that be?"
"Oh. Well. Look, just send it out to everyone, okay?"

Heeheehee

I got up and started pacing back and forth before the bar. This was much more serious than I thought. No Coke. None. Not a drop. Christ. Could the Netromancer be behind this? Would he stoop so low?
No, that was crazy. I was getting paranoid. Just because someone was in the Universal Office, just because Burak Racey was knocking on people's doors and my net access was gone, didn't mean that anyone was out to steal
my Coke.

X3

"Apparently, people may still send things to your account. You cannot reply."
"Okay, what's it say?"
"It reads: 'Come and join the party. SPLUT!'"
"SPLUT?"
"SPLUT."
"Lemme see that." Janice's face disappeared, replaced by a screen of text. "`Come and join the party.'" SPLUT!
"Jeez, Mr. Sloth. I never seen anyone get mailed a snowball in the
face before."

heeheehee

"Sounds like an invitation, Mr. Sloth."
"Or a trap. You sure about that reservation, Janice?"
"Certainly. It reads: 'Mr. Grim Sloth. 5:30 shuttle to Chicago, IL. 2nd Class. Window seat. SPLUT!' Would you like to see it?"
"No, that's alright."

heeheeheehee

It was usually dangerous for us to get together.
Disastrous. We'd all end up in a $20 TPB somewhere. Sandwiched between reprints of "The Sound of Her Wings."

X3

I should just stay here at Munden's and drink. That seemed like the
logical, safe thing to do. Sure. I'd be an idiot to go to Chicago.
"Martin, fix me another drink."
"But I already told you, we're out of Coke."
"Oh. Yeah.
"Martin, did I ever tell you I've always wanted to appear in a Dave McKean cover?"

heeheeheeheehee

Outside, the wind pelted my coat with sleet and freezing rain. This won't be so bad, I thought. Maybe the Netromancer hasn't come into his
full power yet, and we'll be able to sort this out quickly. And maybe they won't switch artists on us in mid-storyline. And maybe there'll be no more snowball jokes.
"Stewart," I said to myself, "for a burnt-out, depressive cynic, you
can be one hell of an optimist sometimes."

Good shit.

"So join the army. Aint no reason why you should hafta die,
or lose yo soul to prove some silly point."
"Uh...what are you supposed to be?"
"Huh?"
"That accent...what are you supposed to be?"
"From New Orleans, sho nuff."
"That has to be the worst New Orleans accent I ever heard.
You even say it like a Northerner. It's 'Norlins.'"
"Damn." She thumped the counter with her fist. "It's _so_ hard...nobody wants to buy some mojo from a witch woman who grew up
in Racine, Wisconsin."

Heeheehee.

Madam Zool sighed heavily. "So you think you know enough to
stay alive ten seconds after you get the damn thing?"
"Sure. What's there to know?"
"Who's currently ruling Hell?"
"Dumael and Urial."
"You _have_ been keeping up on current events."
"Thanks. Subscription to the Weekly World News.

Heeheehee

"Nothing better to do with my time, and I have a whole load of
friends to sacrifice accidentally to the forces of darkness."

Well

Ask other trenchcoaters where they got theirs. That's
the easy way. Make one on your own. That's the hard way."
"How do you make one?"
"Earn the undying emnity of the Lord of Hellfire. You'll be
surprised with just how much he throws your way."

I mean, legit

"Hm...you don't imagine anyone SELLING theirs, would you?"
"I take it you have no clue what a weirdness magnet is?"
"No, not really."

X3 X3 X3

The lights seemed to dim momentarily. When she spoke, each
syllable seemed to leap at me of its own volition. The furniture
seemed to rub against my leg like an overfriendly dog. A lot of
things seemed to happen. But not really.

XD Very fun

"In the past, Evil was able to walk freely about the earth,
devouring and destroying all in its path. People, good people,
were caught in the unrelenting carnage. It was decided by a group
of mages that some attempt should be made to contain the Evil, and
protect the innocent.
"They worked long and hard, perfecting a process that was
foolproof. Attracting the Evil was easy. Containing it was a
different matter altogether. Finally, they settled upon a
brilliant theory. THey would create items of mystical power which
would attract the Forces of Darkness, and radiate such a powerful
aura, that they could not escape its influence."
"Wow. It must have worked, then."
"No, not really. Once the Hellspawn reached the trap, they
would simply destroy it, and that was that. It was decided to try
to make it mobile, so the Evil would be so busy trying to track it
down, it never would molest the innocents again. So the mages gave
these magnets to the best and the brightest, men of honor and
piety, those who could defend themselves, and fight the good fight.
They all died within a week. So the mages scrapped that theory,
and gave the talismans to a bunch of sneaky, backstabbing bastards,
with the morality of rotted eggplant."

This is some fascinating worldbuilding, and I'm going to have to
incorporate it into something.

"I should certainly hope so." I was getting the feeling that
I was headed into another 'Oh, things were so much better when I
was a young necromancer in love, with the Forces of Hell invading
on alternate Thursdays, and only after All My Children...'

Heeheehee

"Do you have this written down somewhere?"
"What?"
"This is a lot of stuff for someone to know. I wanted to know
if you had it written down somewhere, like a script. That way, I
could make a copy, and save us a lot of time."
She frowned at me in that special sort of way women look at men right before they apply the Freddy Krueger (TM) Press On Nails, and go for Soprano-Land. I shut up fast.

Heeheeheehee

"Someone reading the resume thought it would be funny to put
him on the R&D board for their new cereal, Lucky Charms. They gave
him a simple mission: make the cereal...luckier. So he did.

DUN DUN DUN...

"However, he added a bit too much motion studies to the mix
(everyone gets at least ONE of THOSE right on a test), and ended up
with a batch of 10,000 weirdness magnets, suitable for holding up
bad casserole recipes, junior's homework, and the gas bill."
"And they shipped these out in a kid's cereal?"
"Yup. Cool surprise, huh? CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH! 'Hey, I
found the surprise! Mom, why is dad's head spinning around?' Fun
for the whole family at the breakfast table, let me tell you.

heeheehee

"What do you mean _REAL?_ The first? The Phantom Stranger
got his shoved up his bum a few centuries back (by forces better
left unmentioned, since they're still keen on the idea of fitting
big things into little holes), and can't seem to get it out. That's
why he's such a stiff. Mr. E swallowed his clover magnet, like a
gimp. Dr. Occult is almost as bad. About the only REAL magnet of
the lot is Constantine."

We're going way into Copyright Infringement Land. X>

"Constantine, as in EMPEROR CONSTANTINE, as in Istanbul, not Constantinople?!?"
"Naah. The Emperor got around, if you know what I mean. Kept
on dropping illegitimate offspring wherever he went. After his
death, it was decided to pay off the majority, and kill the rest.

I mean, makes sense.

Constantine got a little too carried away, and began spouting
off at the wrong times. During a critical part, where he was
supposed to say, "I defy thee, generic forces of evil (TM), and
shall drive you back screaming into wherever you came from, you bad
people," it came out a little slurred."
"Slurred?"
"Something like, "All right, if this evil dude wants to come
in, let him. There's plenty of booze and babes for everybody. I
need another drink. And quit chanting so loud!"

X3

"Ah, his own version of the spell..."
"Something like that. Anyway, it released the Great Evil, and Constantine and his new drinking buddy decided to find a place that
sold vinegar fries at 568 AD.

Heeheehee

"It's your ticket for finding Constantine. Concentrate on the
name. Then take the express, wherever it takes you."
"And where do I pick up this marvellous train?"
"You know those abandoned tracks down by the White Hen?"
"Oh, the ones where all those body parts were found?"
"No, down the block, where all the dead squirrels formed
themselves into that eerie Elvis statue. Wait there."
"Until?"
"Until the train comes, of course.

This is significantly more fairy-tale than the rest of this story. X>

An occult figure, asking for nothing?
99% of the time, they start the bargaining with "Your immortal
soul," and go down from there (in case you're wondering if you're
dealing with the REAL thing, the next step in occult bargaining is
offering immortal life for mint copies of "The Cowboy Wally Show,"
or a recipe for a really good margerita).

It's trying a lil too hard to be clever, but at the same time, it's fun~

I ignored that cryptic message, deciding instead to file it
away in the Cryptic Message Cortex of my brain, which was beginning
to look like Christmas Day at 8 AM in the Dendrite Household, two
hourse after all 11 little Dendrites padded down to tear into the
ill gotten booty left by that fascist elf, Santa Claus, and his
Naughty/Nice dialectic that holds the hopes and dreams of a million
children in his iron sway, and which would make even Hegel sweat at
the possibilities (and who died and made him omniscient anyway...
and doesn't Hasbro get pissed when his happy elves make exact
replicas of Gi Joe with the Kung Fu grip (TM) complete with a half
ripped off Toys R Us Sticker (boy those guys were good), and didn't
he get slightly perturbed the year my father let the fire keep
burning (helped, I admit by an eager boy wishing to record Santa's
last moments for all eternity...okay, I'm bitter...you would be too
if you got SOCKS every CHRISTMAS, despite the fact that you sit on
that faker's lap in the mall, hoping to at least pass gas at a good
moment, and scream in his ears "NO MORE SOCKS, BUTTHEAD," and you
bury the ones you got last year, hoping they'd turn into a sock
tree, so you could grow your own, and Santa wouldn't have to send
anymore, but you never seem to add enough fertilizer, or water, or
maybe you planted them too deep or something...)
Sorry. Got carried away there for a moment.

...see previous comment. X3 This is trying so hard that that very fact
becomes part of the joke. It's splendid, in moderation anyway.

So I went to the train...Hey, it's magic, right? Ya gotta
have faith. Like, if people didn't have faith in Old Yeller, he would
have died. Whoops, Bad Example. Bambi's mother? Casper the Whoever-he-was-before-he-became-a-Friendly-Ghost? No...
Anyways, I went to the tracks. And waited.
Bruce Wayne's parents?
Geez, I had forgotten how gruesome these kids stories were.

It's true, kids' fiction is way more intense than a lot of adults will
admit, and should be.
Drew "maybe not as intense as some stuff I was assigned for school as
a kid tho" Nilium
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